


Carter’s Curse

by i_owe_you_a_bourbon



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 12:07:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5927773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_owe_you_a_bourbon/pseuds/i_owe_you_a_bourbon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fic written by my dear mother :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carter’s Curse

“Bloody Hell!” Peggy Carter gasped as she lurched forward into a sitting position in her bed. “Steve,” she whispered, breathing as if she had just run for miles. The Dream! It had been so real … again. The explosion. The fire. His voice. She could barely see him amidst the fire, smoke, and rubble. But there he was, reaching for her, calling her name, reaching for her. As she skirted her way through the danger zone towards his fading phantasmal form, he seemed to get further and further away.

Invariably, she’d wake up with a gasp, breathing his name as he disappeared from sight, with his words caressing her ears: “I might be late for our date, but I’ll find you no matter what!”

Having no case to work on didn’t mean a restful night and a sound sleep – not for a mind full of false-hope, doubt, and guilt. Always the guilt! She should be doing something to find him. How could she settle back into a life without him? She had to do something.

“Bloody hell! Get a grip on yourself!” She swung her legs over the side of her sweat-soaked single bed, shocking her body fully awake as her feet touched the cold floor, while the cool night air spilled in through the open window, chilling her sweat-soaked body. She was alive and he wasn’t. _Keep to the facts and stop feeling sorry for yourself._ It’s what she kept telling herself in order to keep going. Slowly rising from her bed, she gazed out the window at the city street below her. A black cat nimbly darted along the rooftop across the street from her. A man hunkered in the shadows with a bottle in his hand, oblivious to the cold as he took a final swig of his liquid-warmth and passed out.

Her life could be worse. She had experienced real warmth, which was more than many people could say. And she had her work. She was slowly developing a reputation, being damned good at her job, despite the initial oppressive atmosphere caused by supercilious male colleagues. These fine male specimens did not think of her as anything more than a gopher, existing to do the mundane office chores that were beneath them. She was invisible to them, but being invisible has advantages. She took nothing personally, knowing her own worth.

Closing the window, she turned to the mirror and gazed at her troubled expression. The Dream! His voice! Could he be alive? _Don’t let your mind go there. Move! Do something!_ She went to the small bathroom adjoining her bedroom and began her ritual preparation for her late night exercise to save her sanity. After relieving herself, she had a quick shower. The warm water felt luscious on her cold skin; it filled the small room with a mist, soothing her mind. Eventually, the warm water started to cool, forcing her to end the temporary solace.

Coming out of the bathroom, she meticulously attended to her appearance. Always feeling a need to be private during her late night prowls, in case she ran into someone she knew, she felt the need to disguise herself. The blond wig with simple but fashionable curls allowed her to roam the city without being recognized. (Except by one person.) On these outings, she preferred comfortable suits of greys and blacks, nothing flashy, no red hat. 

She exited her apartment and began her walk at a brisk pace. Her feet seemed to always just take her to the bridge, while her mind remained aware of her surroundings, prepared for any surprise encounters. She was a wild cat prowling the streets of New York City, and no one would dare stop her. Sure-footed and driven: that’s what kept her going.

Once at the bridge, she could gaze down into the waters of The East River, where she’d cast the blood of her love. Here she could breathe and put things into a perspective that helped her to cope. Time did not matter here. She stared for minutes, or perhaps it was hours, before he arrived. Without a word, he stood beside her; his warmth filled the air around her. As one, they began the prowl together. No words were necessary. Two solitary, pained souls seeking comfort: comfort and warmth from a cold emptiness that grew in the middle of a quiet night.

She reflected back to the first night they encountered each other. She was at the end of her prowl, and had sought out The River Pub to fill herself with warmth. Its location and simplicity suited her wandering soul, close to the river and bridge, and away from her regular acquaintances. Johnny, the owner, seemed as sleepless as she did. He did not try to pry into her worlds, past or present. He just gave her what she needed. 

“What’ll it be tonight, milady: tea or bourbon?” Johnny’s voice was gravelly, but soothing, and it matched the jazz tunes he always played on the Wurlitzer jukebox. It was the closest thing to peace of mind that she could find on these restless nights.

“Both tonight; it’s the kind of cold that seeps into your bones. Thank you, Johnny.” She smiled at him appreciatively as he prepared her drinks. 

It was often just the two of them at that late hour, but occasionally other restless nighthawks would land in this sanctuary. On this night, the old wooden door creaked open. Peggy lifted her gazed at it, expecting another sleepless stranger. Instead, _he_ walked through the door. He immediately locked eyes with her and strolled casually to her table, a half grin on his face.

“This seat taken?” He didn’t seem to recognize her. She stared, remaining silent, but gave a slight shake of the head, indicating that the seat was free. He ordered a double bourbon, and they sipped in silence for a few minutes. “Nice hair, Carter.” That was all he said for a long time. They didn’t look at each other, but just sat sipping their drinks. They warmed themselves on liquor and silent companionship. 

When she was done, she got up to leave. “Care to walk for a bit, Thompson?” He nodded, and they departed together, Peggy leading the way.

Since that night, they’d shared many ambling nights together. They met on the path by the river, or at the bridge, or in the pub. It was always on the nights when their work was slow, allowing them freedom to have a life beyond work. They never questioned the companionship.

Now they walked toward the pub. “Carter, come with me. I want to show you something.”

She paused. This was not their normal routine. “Always so damned demanding, aren’t you, Thompson? You should know by now that I’m not that type of girl.” 

A playful, mischievous smile warmed her face, making Thompson pause for a moment. _Damn you_ , he thought, _don’t do that to me!_

Grinning, he hailed a cab. Climbing in, he told the driver to take them to the pier. The drive was short. He paid the driver, smirking as headstrong Peggy got out of the cab while he was paying, as if to challenge any notion of waiting for him to open her door. She was a damned independent woman; he had to admit that. He admired her strength, but he was frustrated by it too. But here he was in control because she didn’t know his plan. “May I?” He offered her his arm as he gestured toward a dirt path leading away from the parking lot.

“Why, Thompson, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you were trying to take advantage of a lady,” she replied with that devilish smile that always got to him.

“Miss Carter, you may think what you will. It’s dark. I know the way and simply wish to offer my arm as a way to guide you on unknown turf. Take it or leave it. I have no ill intentions.” This was their usual daytime banter, so he added, “At least, not now. Not with you.” His grin faded for a moment as he said it, but then he turned towards the path without her. Firmly securing her arm around his, they ventured down the path together. It was a short path. In about five minutes, they had reached a waterside shed – a boat shed from its appearance. Now she was very curious. 

He released her arm and took out a set of keys. He unlocked the shed and went in. Seconds later he returned, pulling a motorboat. It was painted white with pink polka dots. _Pink Pooch_ was scrawled across the back, upper side of the boat in flamboyant letters. Noticing her raised eyebrows and inquisitive expression, he explained, “A friend owed me a favour. It pays to have some elite friends who owe favours.” 

When the boat was ready, Peggy Carter climbed onboard, followed by Jack Thompson. He started the motor and manoeuvred the boat like a pro. _Figures_ , Peggy thought in exasperation. _Another asset._

Their destination quickly became apparent. The Statue of Liberty rose on Bedloe’s Island as they crossed the bay. “What are you doing?” A mistake to voice her curiosity, but she had not expected this. A look of satisfaction crossed Jack’s face. He gave no reply. The island and the monument were closed at this hour. _What could he be thinking?_  

Yet, when they docked, he produced another key. “Another friend,” he remarked before she could ask. He led her to the foot of The Statue and unlocked the door to the pedestal. Then he gestured for her to take the lead up the stairs, “The crown awaits you, Miss Carter.” The climb felt good. It made her exert her muscles like she had not done for the last few days. She needed this. Is that why they were climbing? Did he know that this was what she needed? She had been up to the top before, so this was not a new experience. Why else would he bring her here?

They reached the top, huffing for breath, but both feeling satisfied with their exertion. From the pockets of his overcoat, Jack produced two flasks. Offering the first to her, she was pleased that it contained some well-needed water. He then offered her a swig of the second flask, potent bourbon. He drank each after her. _Quit your damned pretentious chivalry_ , she thought.

Then he pointed. “Look!”

As she gazed across the bay, the most glorious sight grabbed her full attention. The sun slowly rose, splashing the most vibrant hues of purple, red and, orange across New York and Brooklyn Bridge. For once her mind was actually at peace. Nothing else entered her thoughts. The sun’s rays reached her as if they had been destined to touch her. She literally bathed in the warmth of the sunrise, as it nourished every part of her being. For one moment, she closed her eyes to the beauty and leaned against Jack’s body as he embraced her from behind. Jack’s expression was not one of satisfaction, but one of relief.

Peggy opened her eyes again as the vibrant colours began to fade. “Bloody hell,” she whispered. Jack silently agreed.


End file.
